


Ichabod Gets a Haircut

by Spurlunk



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spurlunk/pseuds/Spurlunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ichabod Gets a Haircut

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Grey for beta-ing!

"This is getting ridiculous. You attract too much attention." Abbie told Ichabod, her hands on her hips as she looked up at him.

"I'm not wearing those pants, the fabric is too rough and it chafes my thighs." 

"It chaf - you know what, I'm not here to try to get you to wear jeans. I'm talking about your hair. Have you seen any other man with hair that long?"

Ichabod's hands flew up to his hair; he tucked a strand behind his ear. 

"I like my hair!" he protested.

"Would you rather I take you to a barber shop or just cut it myself? There's no third option here, you have to choose." 

Ichabod's eyes scanned the hallway outside his hotel room, as if he was looking for some kind of escape. Mike the police officer who had been posted to make sure he didn't run off somewhere had gone home for the night, with Abbie's reassurances that if Ichabod disappeared before morning she would take full responsibility. The two of them had just come back from a late snack - Abbie had treated Ichabod to some applie pie. He had loved it, in fact he had gobbled his piece up with such gusto that Abbie had pushed hers at him, claiming she wasn't hungry and he could finish it.

Now it was getting dark, and Abbie wasn't going to leave until Ichabod agreed to her proposal. She had even brought a pair of scissors along with her, because she was ninety-nine percent sure that Ichabod wasn't going to want to go to a barber shop. And she was right. 

"I could not ask you to pay for a trip to the hairdresser's." Ichabod said.

"It's not that expensive, I was thinking of just taking you down the street to the strip mall, they have a Hair Cuttery over there ..."

"What is a strip mall?"

"Look, Ichabod, do you want me to cut your hair or not?" 

"You can cut it," he said, walking into the room. He stood awkwardly while she pulled out the chair and made him sit down. Then Abbie went into the bathroom and turned on the sink.

"Get your hair wet, then put a towel around your neck and come sit over here," she commanded. Ichabod took off his jacket, his flowy shirt hanging loose from his lanky figure as he walked into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out, looking a little bit like a sad, wet cat. Abbie didn't let the smile playing at the corners of her mouth show itself until he sat down, his back to her. She pulled out her scissors and started cutting, wet clumps of hair falling to the floor around them. They didn't speak, and when Abbie leaned forward a little she could see that Ichabod had closed his eyes. 

It had been a long day, and it was probably a lot more exhausting for him than for her, since there was so much around him that he didn't understand. She was pretty sure that if she was in his shoes she would never shut up, she'd have so many questions, but he seemed to pick and choose which matters he wanted to know more about. Of course, those choices were pretty arbitrary (donut holes? really?) to her, but hey.

"Thank you, Leftenant Mills." Ichabod said, breaking the silence.

"It's just a haircut," she said, pushing his ear back as she cut around it.

"No, for everything. You have been hospitable and generous, and I truly appreciate it."

"Oh. You're welcome," she said, moving around to face him so that she could get both sides of his hair even. He opened his eyes and she looked away, concentrating on the task at hand. She did not want to think about how close he was to her at that moment, and quickly stepped back to examine her handiwork.

"It feels short." Ichabod said.

"It's not that short." Abbie replied. His hair was less stringy and limp, because it was shorter and it curled up fluffily at the ends a little bit. 

"Wait here," she said, going back into the bathroom and rummaging through drawers until she found a comb. She came back and combed his hair so that it was kind of wavy and poofed up a little bit instead of just lying flat. Then she stepped back, pulled off the towel from around his neck, and shook off the hairs on the floor. 

"Go look in the mirror," she said, and while he went into the bathroom she put the chair away and wiped up the hair from the floor using the towel and her hands, dumping it all into the trash can. Ichabod still hadn't come out of the bathroom when she was finished, so she walked in there to see what was taking him so long. 

He was staring at the mirror and touching his hair. Abbie almost laughed out loud.

"You going to stare at your reflection all night long?" she asked.

"I look so different," he said, not looking away.

"If you shaved, and wore a different shirt, you might actually look like you belong in this century."

"I did not realize you were so skilled in so many different ways," Ichabod said, finally tearing his gaze away from himself to look at Abbie. There was a moment of charged silence and then Abbie turned away, putting the comb on the shelf and pocketing her pair of scissors.

"I'd better get going. I'll see you tomorrow, Ichabod. And just because Mike isn't here doesn't mean you can just go wherever you want. Wait for me, okay?" she said, heading out the door.

"Yes, Leftenant. Sleep well," he said, and shut the door softly behind her.


End file.
